


On the Edge

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha Deucalion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Deucalion, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Gerard Argent, Merman Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Severe Depression, Severely Depressed Character, Suicidal Deucalion, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 15:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10390410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: In the aftermath of the death of his pack Deucalion secludes himself and eventually succumbs to the dark thoughts in his mind.AU where instead of becoming vengeful over Gerard Argent's betrayal Deuc becomes depressed instead and Stiles is a helpful merman.





	

Bad things happened to good people. Good things happened to bad people. It was a fact that would never change no matter how desperately Deucalion wished he could change it. His pack lay dead, their bodies broken and stuck in permanent half-shift by the hands of the Argents. 

He crawled away from them with bloodied eyes and wounds that refused to heal. He couldn’t see the corpses of his mates but he could feel their lives as they were severed. 

He’d heard Death being described as a candle snuffed out, but it was so much worse than that. It wasn’t simply a candle but a roaring flame. Their lives permeated every surface with life and love. Their passions warmed his heart and their sadness filled him like smoke, ethereal and dark. When their lives were taken from him he was plunged into a world of icy cold. 

The heat was sapped from his skin. Every trace of light vanished both literally and metaphorically as Gerard plunged the arrows into his eyes. His body shook and longed to cry out but his voice was hoarse from howling out a cry that would never be answered. 

He didn’t know how far he went and he didn’t remember consciously choosing a direction to flee. Some small part of him urged him to go back to the final resting place of his pack and yet he carried onwards. 

When he collapsed outside the old Hale house, unaware of where he was but sensing a familiarity, he smelled the faintly comforting scent of wolves. He found himself wishing that Gerard had chosen to drive the arrows in just a little deeper where they would have embedded themselves into his brain and he would have been able to die with the rest of his pack. 

It was his own fault and he fell unconscious believing that.

Several hours later he was in the animal clinic. Without his eyes the pungent aromas that permitted the place were strong and displeasing in his nostril, but the distaste kept him from thinking. 

The Hale matriarch comforted him as best she could but she wasn’t his pack. 

Her emissary said he would live but that wasn’t what he wanted. 

He nodded slowly to the words the man said, all the while his conscious brain had retreated far into the back of his mind, back before a gaping hole had formed in his chest. His entire pack was gone and they would never be coming back. 

Talia had his things moved into a spare guest room without even asking. She settled him in and made sure her children were attentive and respectful. Even without eyes he knew they were staring. Their judgmental gaze pierced into him. 

_What a bad alpha,_ they must have thought. _What a terrible, terrible man to have let all his pack die like that._

Deuc lay on his bed. He focused on his hearing and listened to the little ones bustling about, getting ready for school or else griping about their jobs. They gossiped about their friends, each other, and even other packs but never about him. He suspected it was because they knew he was always listening. 

Some of them would occasionally come upstairs and offer shallow company. A few of the younger ones would ask if he was mute. He would always respond the same. 

“I just have nothing to say.” 

A few years went by and nothing changed. He was reassured time after time that one day his wounds would mend and he could accept the love of another pack. He grew to like the Hales but they still weren’t his pack and it wasn’t his home. 

His skin never warmed even when he stood directly in front of a fire with his palms above the flame. He never felt the sun on his face or the hot Californian air breezing through his hair. It was all just colorless cold that only served to remind him of his empty fate. 

Significant time went by before his heart finally urged him out of the Hale home. It weighed in his chest like a rock. 

He waited until the rest of the Hale’s left the house for the day before creeping out the front door. Navigating became a lot easier once he realized his Alpha eyes still possessed their sight. Not that he deserved to see. 

He walked on bare feet through the preserve that surrounded the house. His feet stung a little as they walked over rocks, needles, and pointed plants. He never once gave thought to the pain as he went. Besides, what little he suffered was automatically healed by a body that had betrayed him with the same healing once before. 

He didn’t know how long he walked along that overgrown trail. Back in the day it had been used for hiking but now with the sightings of wolves in the area it lay largely unused. The path was winding and it snaked around the hills and underneath fallen trees. The further it went on the steeper it got until he had to practically climb the rest of the way. Still though, it would be worth it. Breaking his neck was of no great concern. 

He kept his pace steady in case any of the Hale’s saw fit to follow him. He didn’t think they would, aside from taking him food none of them paid much attention to the recluse in the guest room. He highly doubted they’d notice he’d slipped away and if they did he wondered if they would care. 

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to reach his destination. It was difficult to keep away from the cities but the last thing he wanted to deal with was more people. His feet stung with quickly fading pain as he went from moss, to rock, to grass and finally reached the little cliff that hung over the coast. 

He walked right to the edge and stared down. The narrow beach was empty and littered with jagged rocks. The tides were dark and shadowed, unlike the rest of California’s sundrenched beaches. The crashing and tumultuous waves slammed in the cliff face with a fury. 

His pack would never come back, but perhaps he could go to them. The ocean seemed a fitting end. His body might heal from an injury or poison but drowning wasn’t something his biologically masochistic body could deprive him of. 

He didn’t have to think about what he would do next, the movement came naturally. He stepped away from the safety of the grass beneath his feet and closed his eyes. 

The air ‘wooshed’ past him as he fell and knocked the breath from his lungs. He plummeted straight down and crashed through the waterline. 

He broke through the surface of the water with an impact that shocked his nerves. Soon thereafter the frigidity of the water enveloped him. Almost on a reflex he gasped and his mouth was flooded with the same cold. He couldn’t help but to fight and struggle his way towards the surface. His eyes popped open and he swam towards the shining dot he was certain was the sun. 

He kicked his legs and moved his arms, knowing in his heart that he should just give up but once more his body betrayed him and fought for life. 

His vision clouded. Pain seared through his oxygen deprived lungs. He clawed for the surface but the waters kept him down. 

Something strong and large brushed against his foot. The very same thing wrapped around his waist and tugged him to the side. It kept tugging, and tugging, all the while Deucalion fought against it. He tried to push it away with his hands but he couldn’t get a proper hold on the sleek surface. 

The thing tugged harder and faster. He was being dragged away from the rock wall where he’d landed and off in the opposite direction. It was only when his face reappeared above the waterline that he realized he’d been dragged to the shore. 

He gasped and coughed, sputtering out a painful amount of seawater as he did. The taste made him want to vomit but he kept it down. With a final, forceful tug he found himself on a bed of sand. 

He looked down at his waist to see a slimy tail of sorts clinging to him. _A tail,_ he realized. It was striped black and white with yellow speckling all the way down to the yellow tail fin. 

“Silly wolf. You don’t belong in the ocean.” 

To the side of him sat a boy with brown, water-logged hair, black eyes, and a pair of gills growing from his neck. He looked human down to his waist where his tail started. It unraveled itself from around Deucalion’s waist and lay against the soaked sand. 

Deucalion was filled with anger. “Why?” he demanded to know. “Why did you interfere?” 

The boy tilted his head to the side. His gills flared. “I just saved your life, no need to be so huffy.” 

“You didn’t save my life, you ruined my death.” 

The boy frowned. He flicked his tail in a gesture that Deucalion assumed meant agitation. 

“Why would you want to die?” he asked. 

“My entire pack is dead.” 

“That’s very sad,” said the boy. “But I’m sure they wouldn’t want you jumping off of cliffs.”

“You don’t know that,” said Deucalion. “You don’t know what it’s like.” 

“I never had a pack,” said the boy. “I don’t know what’d be like to lose a packmate but I know what it was like to lose a parent. It wasn’t a good feeling. I blamed myself for a long time,” he said. “I knew it wasn’t my fault but that didn’t make it any better.” His dark eyes saddened and he looked back out at the waves. 

“What’s your name?” Deucalion asked. 

“Stiles,” said the boy. “What’s yours?” 

“Deucalion,” he said. 

“Are you going to try and jump off that cliff again, Deucalion?” 

Deuc frowned. The anger in his soul had subsided. He still felt empty but the way the boy was looking at him made the words back up in his throat. “I don’t … No, Stiles. I don’t think so.” 

“Good,” said Stiles with a thin smile. “I don’t want to see someone else die.” 

Deucalion drew his legs up and away from the waters that threatened to wash over them. He shook some of the water from his hair and ran his fingers through the sand. 

“You know,” he mused. “I didn’t think there were any merpeople out this way.” 

“There aren’t,” said Stiles. “It’s just me here.” 

“So then why do you stay?” 

“You’re not the first person who’s tried to jump off that cliff. You might be the first wolf, though.”

Deucalion furrowed his brows. “You just stay here, waiting for jumpers?” 

“If I don’t who would?”

“Why not just let them drown?” he asked. 

“No one ever tries it twice,” said Stiles. “Maybe they just go somewhere else, but sometimes … sometimes I see people standing up on the rocks. They don’t jump, they just stand there and stare. I’d like to think they’re saying thank you.” 

Stiles rolled over then. He laid down on his back and looked up at the sun. The sand clung to his wet body and he grinned, revealing a row of sharp teeth. “But that’s a depressing topic. This beach never gets any visitors. It’s too cold and all the rocks scare people – most people – away. You should come back and visit sometime. Just take the road next time.” 

“Alright,” said Deucalion. “I’ll visit you, but how will you know I’m here?” 

“Excellent eyesight and a great sense of smell. Just stand in the water for a bit. Once you get the scent of wet wolf it never goes away.” Stiles winked.

“You want me to stand in the freezing water?” 

“I think that’s the least you could do after I saved your life,” he said innocently. 

“Are you going to use that against me for the rest of it?”

“Yes,” said Stiles with a widening of his grin. “Forever and ever, so long as we both shall live.” 

A small warmth bubbled up in Deucalion’s heart. He felt a fondness for the mischievous mer that had become foreign to him. Even before when his pack had been strong and alive he’d never taken to someone quite so quickly. 

“Well then,” he said. “I suppose a little wet feet never hurt anybody.” 

“Good answer,” said Stiles with a thumbs up. 

For some time he and Stiles just sat there, watching the sun as it began its descent towards the horizon. Stiles was quite the talkative one, he chatted aimlessly about ocean currents, and a school of fish he’d following. He talked about all the strange things he found in the ocean like bottles, cell phones, and golf balls. 

As the sky turned purple and the sun threatened to disappear beneath the horizon Stiles sat up and gave a yawn. 

“I gotta go,” he said. “There’s a school of fish that comes by this way every night and I’ve got a hunger for some anchovies. But I’ll see you again soon, right?”

“Soon,” Deucalion promised.

“Good,” said Stiles. “I’ll see you soon.” With a flick of his tail and a leap Stiles disappeared beneath the waves, leaving behind only the trail of his tail.

Deucalion sat there for a few minutes longer, watching the sky darken and wondering where in those waters Stiles had gone. Perhaps when he came back he’d bring some type of boat so he could follow him out. 

“Deucalion!” 

Deucalion turned. 

Beside the road stood Talia, her Camaro parked behind her. She waved to him and beckoned him over. 

Deucalion stood and brushed the sand from his pants. The sand was cold beneath his toes but finally, he felt warm again. His heart held a small trickle of hope and optimism. As the world darkened his views lightened and his heart held out for the future. 

“What are you doing all the way out here?” Talia asked in a tone that was somewhere between chastising and confused. If he’d been in a worse mood Deucalion might have taken offense, he wasn’t one of her errant cubs though he supposed her mother-bear instincts wouldn’t let her view him as anything different. 

“I was …” Deucalion pondered for a moment, “visiting a friend.”


End file.
